The car park skeleton is that of Richard lll. This is the secondary headline of the article in the free paper. The story? The discovery of the crooked and twisted bones in a car park in England. I wasn’t sure if I should be happy or sad. Seems the fellow’s feet were missing… seems he must have died a violent death, judging by the hack, slash and stab wounds to the skull.
Seems he may just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Poor fellow. Happy or sad? The question is still with me. Crooked and twisted? Yep… the wise ones are saying our Richard’s bones would’ve looked like this… one shoulder higher than the other… crooked back… if history, according to Shakespeare, is to be believed then the crooked back belonged to a very bent man.
Happy or sad? I really don’t know… or, I really shouldn’t care. But I do. Why? It seems the poor fellow has now at last been identified as our Richard. The very one spoken so kindly of by history… and Shakespeare. Which is why I’m faced with a dilemma. Happy or sad? Maybe now I can put my guilt to grave… together with the reintering of our Richard.
What guilt? Well, you see… this fellow’s torrid, sordid and excruciating existence was thrust upon me at an early age. In my formative years, you may say. The worst part of it all? I had to write copious amounts of drivel about our Richard. Then, others would interpret my insight, or lack thereof, and judge me accordingly.
I simply didn’t like or enjoy the process, in fact… I rather loathed it all. Richard had no bearing on my life in Southern Africa. Yes… I know the pedagogists (read sadists) were attempting to instil a love of the language English… but surely there were other ways. Set-work books… 3 act plays, written centuries before, weren’t my glass of sparkling spring water.
William the Bard’s tomes are good for the descendants of the greater, greener England… not for a lad who’s lineage included not one drop of UK blood… royal or not! Rather, the status of my hybrid vigour blue blood needed culturing more suited to what flows in my veins… that of the Portuguese, French, Dutch and German variety…
OK… I know I’m waffling, again. To end it all… no, not that way, I’m not altogether sad about the discovery. Actually, I am rather happy the wise ones have proved our Richard’s demise to have been rather violent… and painful. Payback for the torture he put me through… for no rhythm, rhyme or reason. May my nightmares and your bones rest in peace!!
Thank you to the BBC… http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-leicestershire-21282241